Punishment
by Laryna6
Summary: The clan leaders came to Master to complain: does his behavior reflect on his poor Master? Frankenstein requests that Raizel punish him.


_A giftfic for HiZeno, who translated Songbird into Chinese and requested Frankenstein being punished._

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Frankenstein didn't regret what he'd done to move the clan leaders to action, of course he didn't. But he found himself regretting that they'd come to Cadis Etrama di Raizel, his Master, to complain.

Master had only sighed, helpless to do anything about Frankenstein even though he _had drunk Frankenstein's blood_ and it would be a simple matter to make Frankenstein do as his Master willed. It left Frankenstein feeling worried. Not for his own sake, but what if his Master felt ashamed by Frankenstein's behavior? What if the behavior of his Bonded reflected on him in some way, and the clan leaders would look down on his Master because of Frankenstein?

He paced in his room, driven to distraction by the thought that his Master might have suffered in some way because of Frankenstein's behavior. There was no helping it, he had to make amends.

Mind made up, he walked to Master's room. "Master," he said, joining him at the window. "About the recent visit from the clan leaders…"

Master turned to him, a silent question in his eyes. Was he acting as though he'd forgotten all about it for Frankenstein's sake?

"Master," he said, before he could think better of it, "Punish me."

His Master's reaction was outright puzzlement.

"The clan leaders came and bothered you because of me," he said, still not regretting his actions, just their consequence for his innocent Master. "I didn't think of you or how my actions might affect you at all. Please, Master, punish me."

His shoulders relaxed when his Master nodded and turned to face him with a serious expression.

"Frankenstein," his Master said, eyes glowing slightly, "Kneel."

His knees hit the floor before he could reflexively muster his defenses against the vast power weighing down on him. Or no, he still wasn't preparing to resist, he noticed with relief. He couldn't force Master to expend more of his life force because of his own selfishness, he would deserve to die if that happened! The great power that surrounded him was the same great power that dwelled inside him, the power that flowed through their bond, so of course his well-honed fighter's reflexes hadn't responded. This power wasn't a threat to him, it would never be used to attack him. Master's power was familiar, was safe.

Master would never harm him. Frankenstein trusted in that absolutely, even if a noble was standing over him, eyes glowing, using his power on Frankenstein. It was by Frankenstein's explicit request: his Master had planned to let him get away with everything without any punishment, his kind and merciful Master.

He was still breathing faster, in anticipation of the punishment.

"You do not have my permission to breathe," Master said, and Frankenstein's lungs failed him.

Even so he didn't fight against the power that took control of his body from him, instead gathering his discipline to keep from trying to breathe in, since he didn't have permission. His enhancements let him go a long time without breathing: Master would have to keep him like this for some time before Frankenstein learned his lesson. So he would be patient, he reminded himself.

He knelt there, pinned to the floor by piercing red eyes, and he knew he wasn't imagining the note of concern for him in that impassive gaze. Frankenstein's blue eyes met his Master's fearlessly, without hesitation, ignoring the discomfort in his chest, his body's desire to breathe. Frankenstein's self-control would be legendary, if the Union left more who knew of him alive.

There was birdsong outside the window, but his Master kept looking at him instead of the window he enjoyed so much. Forsaking his own pleasure and the outside world for the sake of Frankenstein's honor, to fulfill his request. Frankenstein's heart warmed, and his lips moved as he whispered, "Master," through their bond, not in pleading but in gratitude.

He saw Master's eyes crease with concern when Frankenstein reached out to him, and Frankenstein shook his head and smiled. No need to worry, Master. Frankenstein was fine. He might be growing just a little light-headed, but his punishment wasn't a torment. He could bear it for a second, what would have been the span of a breath, and another untaken breath, and another…

Anything, he could bear anything with Master here, watching over him. There was a slight pain in his abdomen now, and he swallowed, which was a mistake because the feeling of needing to breathe intensified. Still, this was supposed to be a punishment, so he needed to suffer at least a little, so the rising discomfort was progress. He clenched his fingers into fists, and finally let his body try to draw a breath, in case that reduced the discomfort.

It didn't: his body knew the difference between wouldn't breathe and couldn't breathe, and in the back of his mind, in the parts he hadn't dared tamper with because they were the foundation of humanity there was rising confusion and panic. He could have tamped down on them with discipline, could have held out longer, but his stoicism was forcing his Master to turn his back on his beloved window for longer. He tried and failed to inhale again, and again, feeling the rising emotions, feeling the muscles in his chest spasm, fighting to breathe. He still kept his body from reaching for his powers, because he wouldn't fight Master, no.

He didn't avert his gaze from Master's eyes, meeting that solemn red, the glow in them faded now, because Master didn't need power to make him obey. His world narrowed down to his body's need to breathe and his Master, who stayed with him through it.

How long had it been? It was getting darker now. How long had Master watched him so patiently? How long had the Master he trusted watched over him, gauging how much discomfort he was in, waiting for Frankenstein to be properly punished so Master could restore his permission to breathe?

Master _would_ restore his permission to breathe, Frankenstein told himself, and it calmed his emotions a little. It must be paining Master to see him in even discomfort: Master was doing this for _his_ sake. Master would relent before it became truly painful, which it wasn't. It was nothing on Dark Spear, on what he endured every sparring session.

He was fine, Frankenstein told himself, ignoring how light-headed he felt. Truly, he was fine, he _knew that_ even as he choked on an attempt to breathe.

"I give you permission to breathe," Master said, and Frankenstein threw his hands to the floor, supporting himself as he gasped for breath.

He knelt there some time, feeling the weight of Master's regard on the back of his head, just breathing, just feeling the air flow in and out of his lungs, waiting for his instincts to quiet.

Finally he looked up.

"Are you satisfied, Frankenstein?" Master asked him.

Frankenstein smiled, still feeling light-headed even though he'd had more than enough oxygen. Master's kindness simply did that to him sometimes. "Yes, Master."

Yes: whatever his Master asked of him, the answer was yes, always yes.


End file.
